


Take only what you need from it

by runphoebe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Porn Stars, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, D/s, Dirty Talk, Domestic Lite, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Praise Kink, M/M, Mild Consensual Verbal Humiliation, Offscreen Kink Negotiation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runphoebe/pseuds/runphoebe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Derek, sometimes, likes to get lost in his head; sometimes he likes to drift there, entangled in the empty spaces between his thoughts because the world is an overwhelming place, even more overwhelming for Derek, and being in his head is easy. Easy as letting his eyes slip closed around the edges of a distant thought, as translating the rush of sensation, the physical realities of his body into nothing but nerves firing restless in his brain, then into nothing at all.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Stiles and Derek spend most of their time grading freshmen chem lab reports and sometimes film themselves having sex for money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take only what you need from it

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not the Porn AU or the College AU you are looking for, at least not until I expand upon it with a 100% increase in plot. 
> 
> Backstory: Stiles and Derek are getting their PhDs in chem at UCBH. They've been dating for like 3 years or something and they have a cool little tumblr and camsite where they posts vids and pics of themselves getting it on to earn a little extra cash since Derek is not so secretly an exhibitionist and he likes to show off how well Stiles gives it to him with his nice big cock. This has very little plot, but I'm hoping that posting it will inspire me to continue as a full length story. 
> 
>  
> 
> **spoilery warnings in the end notes, please read them if you feel like any of the tags in this story are triggering for you**
> 
>  
> 
> Title from MGMT's Kids. Unbetaed, so lemme know if you catch any glaring errors.

Derek, sometimes, likes to get lost in his head; sometimes he likes to drift there, entangled in the empty spaces between his thoughts because the world is an overwhelming place, even more overwhelming for Derek, and being in his head is easy. Easy as letting his eyes slip closed around the edges of a distant thought, as translating the rush of sensation, the physical realities of his body into nothing but nerves firing restless in his brain, then into nothing at all.

“Derek.”

Derek wills his eyes to open, like dragging himself from the tug of sleep; his body feels like it’s moving through honey, weighty and uncooperative, like his synapses are firing a second too late and his limbs are always a step behind.

“Derek,” Stiles says again, a little harsher this time, a little more of an order, but still coaxing and careful.

Derek mumbles something incoherent into the pillow underneath his face even though he knows Stiles won’t like that. He just can’t will anything else out of himself; he’s completely drained and they haven’t even gotten to the orgasms yet.

Predictably, Stiles swats the back of his thigh. “Don’t mumble. Use your words when you’re talking to me.”

Derek rolls his head to the side, freeing his mouth from the damp pillowcase and dragging in a harsh, grating breath. There’s rustling above him and when he looks up, he realizes that Stiles’s picked up the camera from the nightstand and is holding it now, focusing on Derek’s tear-streaked face, the hot mess of his hair, then pulling back to pan the length of his arched back and his ass, open and curved and desperate for Stiles’ touch.

“Please,” Derek whimpers when Stiles sits back on his heels and just holds the camera there, no doubt focusing on Derek’s hole and the flutter and twitch of his leg muscles. “Please please, Stiles, fuck me, _please_.”

Stiles chuckles behind him, dark and a little overplayed for the camera, but Derek doesn’t care—he feels out of his mind with the hot sear of pleasure and Stiles keeps forcing him to feel all of it all at once, keeps him from retreating inside himself.

“You haven’t even had a finger,” Stiles reminds him. It’s true; Stiles has spent the last hour dragging him to the edge of orgasm, only to yank him back just barely in time, but he hasn’t fingered him yet. “Remember how much it hurts when you take my cock before you’re ready?”

“I’m ready,” Derek insists, even though he probably isn’t. Sure, it hurts at first, but Derek is used to this. It only takes a few brutal moments for the pain to settle into pleasure burning low in his belly. “I’m really, really ready, I promise, _please_.” His face burns with how rushed and desperate he sounds, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

He hears Stiles shift behind him and then there’s a thumb rubbing roughly over his hole. Derek keens and arches into the sensation, but Stiles pulls back as soon as he does and Derek whimpers pleadingly.

“ _Enough_ , Derek,” Stiles snaps, voice all business this time. It’s enough to cut off the little noises coming out of Derek’s throat.

He leans forward, bringing the camera with him, and thumbs a few tears from Derek’s cheeks. “Everyone’s going to think I can’t even control my own boy if you don’t settle down,” Stiles murmurs quietly, “don’t you want to show everyone how good you can be for me?”

Derek nods weakly against his forearm. “Yeah,” he says, voice wet.

“C’mon, down on your shoulders, baby,” Stiles says, pressing down against the middle of his back. Derek lets his arms collapse and fold underneath him, tumbles gracelessly until his shoulders are pressed flat against the pillow and his ass is sticking up high in the air. “Arch your back, that’s it, show off that pretty ass.”

Derek loves the way Stiles sounds whenever they tape a scene. His voice goes darker, rougher, like he knows how hot it comes across for anyone watching. He moans and shoves his ass up even further, knowing what a slut it makes him look like with his legs wide open and exposed like that. Stiles’ grunt of approval, when it finally comes, makes him feel stupidly happy.

“Yeah, you are a good boy, aren’t you?” Stiles murmurs, floating a hand down Derek’s back, over his ass.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Derek repeats, muffled into the pillow.

“My good boy,” Stiles punctuates this with a light slap to his ass cheek, “I wasn’t planning on fucking you tonight. Do you think you deserve to get fucked, baby?”

Even the idea of Stiles not fucking him makes Derek go a little lightheaded.

“Please, please, Stiles,” Derek says frantically, practically tripping over his words in his haste to get them out, “please, you have to.”

“Have to?” Stiles repeats, sounding amused and letting one fingertip rest against Derek’s aching hole, before slowly, _slowly_ pushing inside. It takes all of Derek’s willpower not to shove himself back on to it, because _Stiles_ , he fucking knows what he’s doing with his fingers. He stops when the last knuckle is resting against Derek’s rim and wiggles his finger a little, deliberately avoiding his prostate. The heat flaring in Derek’s belly magnifies, makes his legs shake. “Why don’t you earn it, pretty boy? Spread that ass open for me.”

Derek almost hurts himself when he shoves his hands back and grips his cheeks, spreading them as wide open as he can.

Stiles groans audibly at this, and rewards Derek with another lubed up finger pressing inside and glancing off his prostate. He pumps both fingers in and out a few times, stretching against Derek’s rim, before asking, “Want another? Think you can handle more?”

Derek nods wildly, then stills when he feels the stretch of a third finger catching on the edge of him. He drags in a harsh breath when Stiles curls the pads of his fingers right into the little bundle of nerves, not even giving Derek half a second to adjust before pulls them out and thrusts them back in roughly again and again and _again_. Derek nearly _wails_ when Stiles shoves down on the small of his back and snarls, “Keep your back arched.”

Keeping his back curved like that intensifies the sensations that much more and Derek is afraid he won’t be able to last much longer, that he’ll come without Stiles’ permission, unable to stop himself. “Please,” he grits, “I’m going to come if you don’t fuck me soon.”

“You’ll regret it if you come without my cock inside you,” Stiles promises.

“Then _fuck_ me,” Derek pleads, “I can’t hold off.”

Stiles takes both of Derek’s wrists and holds them against the small of his back; he’s useless like this, totally restrained and exposed and at Stiles’ mercy, like he isn’t _always_ at Stiles’ mercy. “You can’t fucking behave tonight, can you?” Stiles asks, “It’s like you’re asking to be punished. I might just have to hold you here and finger you all night.”

But it’s an empty threat; Derek whines when Stiles pulls his fingers out, but then he hears the familiar sound of lube slicking over skin, like Stiles is getting himself ready with the hand that was just in Derek’s ass. It makes him shudder. He’s hyperaware of the way his hole gapes, open and empty and desperate for something to clench down around and he knows Stiles is seeing it, too.

“Yeah, I could keep you like this,” Stiles says, “just give you the tip, huh? Just keep it inside you, keep you open.”

He knows how much Stiles loves that, loves plugging him up, spreading him apart with his thumbs and filming just that for minutes at a time, taking pictures of Derek’s wide open hole and posting them to their Tumblr when he’s feeling generous and keeping them to himself when he’s not. Stiles just likes the idea of Derek _taking_ anything, of being the one to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Derek says into the pillow, even though the thought of it drives him insane and all he wants to do is shove himself back onto Stiles’ cock.

Stiles laughs, breathless, like he knows how hard Derek is lying right now. “My good baby,” he murmurs, “I know what you need; don’t worry.”

And in one movement, fast and graceful, one quick thrust that leaves Derek’s head reeling, Stiles is in him, all the way in him and clutching against his hip with the hand that’s not holding the camera. Derek whines high in his throat, overwhelmed with pleasure and hurting, a little, because Stiles is thick enough and long enough that it’s never an easy adjustment.

When Stiles leans over him, plastering Derek’s back to his chest and pressing their faces close, Derek unthinkingly nuzzles against his cheek. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and pants against Stiles’ skin while his hole clenches and releases around Stiles’ cock, and it’s so much. It’s—it’s _so_ much.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Stiles croons low against his ear, “you’re okay, you’re doing so good for me. I just need you to relax just a little, okay, Derek?”

Derek moans and makes a conscious effort to focus on the sound of Stiles’ voice, this moment that’s just for him and Stiles and not for the camera. Just a moment to remind Derek that Stiles loves him, and that isn’t for show or for an audience; not for anyone but Derek.

“That’s it, good boy,” Stiles praises, bringing Derek back down to himself. Stiles feels less huge and devastating inside him, and Derek makes himself open up even more, letting Stiles slide in that final half-inch. “You feel me, baby?” He rocks his hips twice, tapping hard against Derek’s prostate and Derek’s flagging arousal makes an immediate comeback, his cock fully hard and leaking a little more every time Stiles rolls his hips. “Hmm, you feel that, Derek?” He asks again.

“Y—yeah,” he stutters, voice cracking a little when Stiles presses down on the center of his back, forcing him to arch it, “feel you. God, Stiles, please.”

Stiles stays still for a long moment, and when Derek turns his head to the side, he sees him panning the camera over the length of his body, then stopping and focusing right where his cock is sinking into Derek’s body. Derek’s skin feels hot and damp in the cool air and when Stiles notices, he brings the camera around to focus on that instead. “Oh, baby, I’m going to fuck you on your back next time. Wanna look at that pretty face,” he says, thumbing some of the dampness away from Derek’s cheek.

Then, he pushes his thumb into Derek’s mouth and Derek sucks and Stiles just goes slack-jawed and grunts, rears back and fucks into him _hard_. Derek whimpers and turns his face back into the hot cradle of his pillow, a whine growing steadily in his throat as Stiles keeps fucking relentlessly into him.

It feels so good Derek can’t catch his breath. Every time Stiles brushes against his prostate, it feels like hot, bright zings of pleasure burst from deep in his belly and ricochet off the confines of his body, like it’s hard to keep something so good trapped inside him.

“Oh, fuck, Stiles, I’m gonna come,” he gasps when Stiles wrenches his arms behind him and pins his wrists at the small of his back. It changes the angle just enough that Stiles’ cock is a constant, steady pressure against his prostate and it drags him right to the edge of his orgasm before he even knows what’s happening.

“Yeah, come for me, Derek,” Stiles says, sort of draping himself along Derek’s back again and angling the camera underneath their bodies so it’s undoubtedly focused on Derek’s painfully hard, pulsing dick. He’s half tempted to break Stiles’ hold so he can reach a hand beneath himself and jerk off, but he knows how much Stiles and their whole audience in general loves when he comes untouched, so he just centers himself, makes himself feel nothing but the fullness inside him, the stretch of it, the tight curl of an orgasm building low and steady. He’s right—he’s almost there, he can feel himself tripping over the edge of it, and those few painful moments of anticipation where his body wants to curl in on itself, not sure if what it’s feeling is pleasure or pain, but it doesn’t matter because it’s just _too much_.

Then, Stiles kisses the tender skin below his ear and murmurs, almost too quiet for the camera to pick up, “C’mon, come for me, Derek, let me see you come,” and Derek is done. He comes with a high noise somewhere between a cry and a whine, cock spurting all over the towel beneath him, and his body, pulled tight as a bow string, just collapses as his orgasm comes rushing out of him. His arms go lax in Stiles’ grip and his thigh muscles release and he falls even more onto his chest, held up only by the inexorable constant of Stiles inside him, behind him.

“You want me to finish inside you or on your back?” Stiles asks, pulsing his hips gently in and out of Derek. It’s always just on the edge of too much when Stiles keeps fucking him after he’s come, but Derek loves the feeling of Stiles’ come dripping out of him too much to do anything other than mumble, “Inside me, please.”

“Good boy,” Stiles says, sounding pleased. When he starts fucking in and out of Derek again, it’s almost too much against his oversensitive prostate, Derek almost has to ask him to stop, but he can tell from the harsh grunts coming from Stiles that it won’t take long. “Fuck, God,” Stiles groans, “your fucking ass.”

Derek can feel the hot rush inside him as he clenches around Stiles, the sharp little sounds he makes as he buries himself as deep as he can, the way he collapses on top of Derek and fingers lightly through his sweaty hair.

“Perfect,” he says, “I’m going to pull out, okay?”

When Derek nods, Stiles pulls out carefully and they both wince a little. “C’mon, hold yourself open for me,” Stiles murmurs, guiding one of Derek’s hands back to his ass. Derek takes the hint and uses both hands to hold his cheeks apart while Stiles runs one finger up his taint to his hole, chasing a stray drop of come. He presses it carefully back inside Derek, and he knows Stiles is getting all of this with the camera: the wet wreck of his hole, the puffy skin, the spunk dripping out of it.

Stiles places the camera on the nightstand, still focused on them, and Derek goes all shivery and warm. This is his favorite part, because it means Stiles is paying attention only to him, instead of splitting time with camera angles and shit.

“Hey, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, stretching across the bed to grab a warm rag off the nightstand. One of Derek’s favorite things about Stiles is that he knows how important touch is to Derek, and he doesn’t question it. Just quietly accepts that Derek doesn’t like to be left alone after sex, not even for just a trip to the bathroom to wet a washcloth.

Derek lets himself float while Stiles cleans him, drifts on the low hum of Stiles’ voice and the soothing pressure of his hands, pressing Derek’s legs gently apart and wiping up all the come and lube and sweat. Stiles is so good at this part, Derek thinks, so good at helping Derek come down, putting him back together.

“You did so good, baby boy,” Stiles murmurs, “you were so good.” He hears Stiles shift around and come back with the camera, panning it over Derek’s prone body one last time before the soft beep signals that he’s shut it off.

Stiles kisses him on the cheek three or four times and then drops one on his forehead. He maneuvers them until Derek’s head is on Stiles’ stomach and Stiles is propped up against the pillows with a book in one hand, the other fingering idly through Derek’s hair.

“Get some sleep, okay?” Stiles says, fingers never letting up on their inexorable rhythm on Derek’s scalp.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Derek mutters against his stomach, but, lulled by the constancy of Stiles’ warm skin beneath him, he falls asleep before he can even hear Stiles snort lovingly in response.

*

Their blackout curtains are drawn, so Derek has no idea what time it is when he wakes, but it feels like he’s gotten a few hours of sleep at least. His face is mashed into Stiles’ hip and he’s pretty sure he drooled through the flannel pj pants Stiles must’ve put on after Derek passed out. Stiles is humming quietly to himself, something that sounds suspiciously like Nicki Minaj because he’s a huge weirdo, and has a stack of lab reports on his lap that he’s flicking through with a red pen. It’s a brutal reminder that Stiles has to teach tomorrow, and Derek does too, and he can’t actually stay in this nest of pillows and throw blankets that Stiles has so thoughtfully fashioned for him.

Derek shifts and grunts, clearing his throat when it comes out a little raspy, and the noise startles Stiles.

“Hey, hi,” Stiles says, wrapping his free hand around Derek’s shoulder to thumb at his collarbone. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” Derek says back, stretching his legs, back, and shoulders experimentally, since he knows Stiles is going to ask him if he’s feeling okay at any moment. “Thirsty,” he says when he feels how scratchy and dry his throat is. Stiles grabs a glass of water with a bendy straw from the bedside table and lets him take slow, measured sips from it.

“Anything hurt?” Stiles asks, because he puts on a good show for the camera, but secretly he’s a huge softie when it comes to Derek.

“Just a little sore,” Derek rasps, cataloguing the satisfying aches that zing through his muscles when he stretches them out properly. His ass is like a dull, hot throb between his legs. “You’re bottoming next, or we’re doing this on the weekend.” It’s an old argument, but Derek always feels the need to rehash it. “I have to stand for ten hours straight tomorrow.”

Stiles just grins at him. “Anything you want,” he agrees, thumb still stroking his collarbone. He does it so fucking lovingly that Derek can’t help but shove Stiles’ stack of papers onto the mattress next to him and tug him down so they’re eye-level with one another. “Next time I could fuck your throat,” he says, all soft and pleased, belying his words and the possessive way he thumbs the corner of Derek’s mouth, like he’s imagining it wrapped around his cock. “Let you explain to your classes why you lost your voice.”

“Asshole,” Derek says, but he draws Stiles’ thumb into his mouth and sucks on it anyway. Stiles’ answering smile is bright and open and happy, like nothing could please him more than Derek calling him names. “What time is it anyway?”

“Past midnight,” Stiles answers, “I graded your lab reports for you. Also, your mom called to remind you that their plane gets in at five tomorrow.”

“You’ll have to pick them up,” Derek says, turning over onto his belly and hugging a pillow close, suddenly feeling relaxed and sleepy now that he knows he doesn’t have any grading to worry about. “My lab goes till six on Fridays.”

“I know, doofus,” Stiles says, propping himself back up to continue with his own labs. He tangles his free hand in Derek’s hair and leaves it there. The pressure is nice and grounding, filling Derek up with this overwhelming sense of safety and comfort. They’re pretty lucky, Derek thinks, because this kind of compatibility probably doesn’t come around too often, and Derek can’t imagine that there would be anyone else on the planet willing to pin him down and tease him and play with him and fuck him until he’s crying, then grade all his lab reports for him and cradle him gently against his body while he’s sleeping. He can’t imagine anyone but Stiles understanding that he needs to be bossed around a little sometimes, that he doesn’t really like being hurt but that there’s nothing quite like the hot flush of humiliation to get him going.

“I love you,” Derek says, because it’s something he feels the need to tell Stiles all the time, like it magnifies in intensity each time he says it.

“I love you, too,” Stiles says easily, tightening his fingers briefly in Derek’s hair. “Go to sleep, baby,” he says for the second time that night. “You’re waking me up with a blowjob tomorrow morning to thank me for grading your shit for you, so you better rest up.”

“Fuck you,” Derek protests, floating serenely on this cloud of contentment and wondering if it’s actually possible to die from loving someone so fucking much.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://runphoebe.tumblr.com) where I mostly talk about tyler hoechlin and hockey boys atm. 
> 
> The dialogue for parts of this is loosely based on like, the hottest porn I've ever seen so hit me up on tumblr if you're interested and I'll link it to you. You will not regret it. 
> 
> **WARNING FOR:** Offscreen kink negotiation (if that makes you uncomfortable, skip this story); consensual verbal humiliation (this is super mild and there is a lot more verbal praise, but Stiles does speak to Derek in a pretty... condescending manner I guess?); both the sex and the aftercare are filmed and put on the internet so skip if that bothers you; one instance of Derek referring to himself as a slut. PLEASE do not read if any of these ideas are troublesome to you. Derek and Stiles are in a loving, committed, sexually bangin relationship that only works because they make each other feel safe, so keep yourselves safe as well!


End file.
